Trial and Temptation (Mandrake Company)

by Ruby Lionsdrake

  The stupid canister hung between them, and he didn’t know whether to break the kiss to set it down—what if she pulled away and didn’t come back?—or fling it to the side, but the last thing they needed was for the nozzle to break and for liquid nitrogen to spray all over the place. So he left it between them, but he kissed her back, opening his mouth, inviting her wandering tongue in. He watched her through slitted eyes, trying to gauge her reaction. Was this a pity kiss and nothing more? A we-might-die-so-why-the-hell-not-live-a-little-first kiss? Was she enjoying it at all? Her eyes were closed. That was good, wasn’t it? Dear God, he had to stop thinking so much.

  He stroked her tongue with his, willing his racing mind to still and hoping his touch pleased her. He was at least enjoying the kiss. And wanting more. He had one free hand, so he reached over and rested it upon her waist, once again feeling the warmth of her skin through that blouse. He was glad she hadn’t listened to him and that she had worn it. With only one hand, his caresses were awkward, but he stroked her waist and her back, imagining how that skin would feel without the garment covering it.

  The canister pressed against his thigh, against the hardness in his trousers. The sensation, the touch, made him twitch, shifting toward it, but he immediately felt foolish. It was a canister, not her hand. For a moment, he was confused as to why it had seemed to move until he realized she had inched closer to him, that she was pressed against it, as well. Maybe she wanted him to fling it aside.

  Val leaned back, her tongue slipping out of his mouth, her lips leaving his. His body wanted to go into a panicked state of emergency—or at least to wrap his arms around her and pull her back, getting rid of that damned canister, and molding himself against her. Did she have any idea how long he had wanted her in his arms? How he had sometimes thought of her in the intervening years, wondering what had happened to her when she left the fleet, wondering how she was doing in the aftermath of Grenavine? Of losing her family?

  She quirked a smile up at him, her eyes warm, playful. “I guess we shouldn’t be kissing around something that could explode at any moment.”

  All too aware of his penis pushing against his trousers, it was all he could do not to blurt a promise that he wouldn’t do that, not until she had been sated anyway. Fortunately his mind—yes, this was the brilliant mind that had impressed so many of his professors once—realized what she was talking about before he said something stupid. “The tank should be sturdy enough to prevent such a mishap.” He was staring down, his gaze arrested by her lips and also by the hint of a pert nipple outlined against her blouse, and he forced himself to look into her eyes. “So long as I don’t drop it and break the nozzle. That thought did enter my mind.”

  “I’m glad we avoided that calamity then.”

  “I am too.” Gregor hesitated—he would gladly put it down in a safe spot if she wanted to jump back into his arms and return to kissing, maybe more than kissing…

  But she stepped away. “Shall I wait in the corner?”

  No. He wanted her to wait in his arms. “Yes, you’ll want to stand back.”

  Val nodded, and he stifled a sigh. Right, back to work. Maybe if he got them out of there, she would want to spend time with him again.

  “Watch out for freezer burn,” she said when she had scooted into the back corner.

  Freezer burn, indeed. Gregor had neither the proper goggles nor gloves for handling the material, so he would have to be careful. He aimed the nozzle at the back of the lock, extending his arms as far from his body as possible, squinted, and squeezed the trigger.

  Spray hit the metal, but the air filled with a white cloud, obscuring the effects. He held the trigger down, aware of, as she had pointed out, the danger of nitrogen-filled air in a confined space, but aware, too, that it would take time for the steel to freeze. Seconds ticked by with more gas particles clouding the air. He didn’t want to pull away too early, but he heard Val shift uneasily behind him and knew what she was thinking.

  He released the trigger and set down the tank. He batted at the air to clear it. When the mechanism came into sight, it hadn’t changed much but it was frosty and—he hoped—brittle. He turned, stepped back, lifted a leg, and slammed the heel of his boot against it with a side kick. The crack of frozen metal breaking rewarded him. He kicked a few more times, smashing the lock to oblivion, then rushed forward, hoping he would indeed be able to work the latch free.

  The frozen metal burned his fingers, but he plucked at the shards anyway, ignoring the pain in his haste to clear them out. He didn’t know if a guard had been posted outside, but he wanted to move quickly, to take anyone stationed out there by surprise, just in case. There was the latch, accessible now. He stuck his finger in, trying to wriggle the cold metal loose, but he struggled, his hands too big to maneuver in the space.

  “Calendula.” He twisted his head, expecting her back in the corner, but she had already joined him.

  “Val.” She rested a hand on his shoulder.

  “Yes,” he whispered. It wasn’t the time for feelings, for kisses, for any of it, but he allowed himself, for the briefest of moments to think that maybe something had changed, that maybe once they got out, once they were no longer facing death, she might….

  “Need a hand?” she asked.

  In so many ways, yes. All he did was nod and shift away from the door. Reminding himself that guards might be outside, waiting with guns, he kept his hands to himself as she bent forward, gravity pressing her breasts against the blouse even more than usual. It would be so easy to reach up, slide the back of his finger along one enticing curve.

  No. He watched her hand instead, pushing back into a crouch as she fished out the latch.

  “I think that’s it,” she whispered. She must be thinking of guards too.

  Gregor grabbed the edge of the hole they had made in the door. “Ready?”

  Val backed up a few steps, nudging aside the shards of metal lying on the floor all around the door. They needed to be able to run out without worrying about slipping.

  Gregor pushed the door open, prepared for guards or an empty hallway.

  The hallway wasn’t empty. The lone guard had been leaning against the door—maybe even listening to try to figure out what they were doing—so he stumbled. He was slow to bring up his rifle. Too slow. Gregor rammed a palm strike into his nose. For the second time that day, someone’s cartilage smashed beneath his hand. This time, he was damaging a worthy enemy, an obstacle to their mission, not some foolish thug in a bar.

  He lunged out into the hall, following his blow with an elbow strike to the solar plexus. Even as he attacked, he glanced in both directions, not wanting to be caught unaware by some second guard stationed nearby. But the corridor was empty. Good. He drew back his arm, ready to throw another punch, but his target had fallen to the floor, groaning and clutching his nose.

  Val stood in the doorway, the liquid nitrogen canister hefted to her shoulder, her eyes on the guard. If he made a sudden move, he might get that hammered into his head. Gregor gave her a nod of approval, glad he had the “backup” he had hoped for in bringing her down here.

  He plucked the guard’s laser rifle from the floor. “Get up.”

  A groan answered him. The bleary-eyed man looked up, not appearing particularly fierce with tears on his cheeks, but Gregor kept the weapon trained on him anyway.

  “We locking him in a freezer?” Val didn’t sound like she would mind the turnabout.

  “Someone seems to have destroyed the lock.” When the guard didn’t hurry to stand, Gregor grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pushed him into the freezer.

  “There are other freezers.”

  “We’ll tie him up and leave him in here. I don’t want to kill anyone, despite these men’s willingness to condemn us to that fate.” He pushed the guard into the corner. “Sit.”

  The man glowered at him but did so. Gregor returned to one of the crates wrapped with straps, figuring they might prove useful after all. He was de
bating how to unfasten them and hold the rifle on the prisoner at the same time, but Val figured out what he was up to and waved him aside. She made short work of removing the straps from the crate, then tied up the guard, perhaps with more vigor than the task required. By the time she finished, he looked like a chicken trussed up for the oven. A chicken with his face smashed into the floor. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

  “Now what?” Val asked.

  “Now we hope we’re not too late to extricate the admiral from the generator room.” Gregor worried that, as Val had mentioned earlier, the kidnappers may have moved him. If they had identified Gregor as a part of Mandrake Company, they might worry that more mercenaries would be on the way. He and Val could start there at least. If the admiral had been moved, Gregor had memorized his list of thirty-one other possible hiding spots.

  “There were six men in that room,” Val said, “that we saw on the camera. And they have at least three other friends left out here.” She waved to the trussed guard. He had been one of the four who had come out of the lift. “Any chance there was a nearby armory on that map you were memorizing in the closet?”

  “No armory.” Gregory offered her the rifle. “But I’ll trade you. I think you may actually have the more disruptive weapon.”

  She snorted and eyed her canister. “It does make a pretty cloud of gas.” After a minute of consideration, she handed it to him.

  A wise trade. He was likely more comfortable with improvised weapons and unarmed combat than she. He had to admit that she was right and that the odds wouldn’t be in their favor. He hoped they could surprise the guards. Perhaps it would be best not to use the front door.

  Chapter 6

  If Val had known Commander Thatcher—Gregor, she reminded herself, still surprised he had invited her to use his first name—would drag her into the ductwork behind the freezers, she wouldn’t have hesitated before trading weapons with him. The bulky nitrogen canister couldn’t be fun to drag through the tight passages. Even the rifle was clunky, and she had to work hard to keep it from clanking on the metal sides.

  Here and there, they passed vents that allowed narrow slats of light into the ducts, but for the most part, the insides were dark, cold, and claustrophobic and smelled of mildew. Val, trusting Gregor had memorized the route, crawled after him in silence. Besides, nothing was as claustrophobic as being locked in a freezer.

  She shuddered at the memory. A career pilot ought to be used to spending time in confined spaces, but between the threat of running out of air and the threat of freezing to death, she had been certain she would end up dead before they could escape. And then who would watch after her brother? No one. Neither of them had anyone else in the galaxy. Funny how being trapped with the threat of death looming brought such thoughts to mind. She was glad Gregor hadn’t been so burdened with doubt. He had acted calmer and cooler than an ice block, as if he had known all along they would escape. Maybe he had as soon as he spotted the liquid nitrogen. She hadn’t been so certain that would work. That was, of course, why she had kissed him. Because she hadn’t known if they would truly make it out and because… that was what people did when the end was near. Even near strangers could be so motivated in a desperate situation.

  She smiled, thinking of how surprised he had been, the stunned way he had stood there for a moment before responding. She had been on the verge of backing away, thinking he either wouldn’t do anything at all or would, in his haughty and proper way, inform her that this was completely unacceptable behavior, given their working relationship. Then, he had surprised her by kissing back. And it had been… nice. All right, more than nice. Sweet and gentle, but arousing too. Maybe, because of her traveling lifestyle, she’d gotten too used to meeting men in bars, horny men who pawed at her and were more interested in satisfying themselves than in worrying about her pleasure. That usually worked well enough—after those long months in space, she was often as horny as they, and wanted little more than a release—but Gregor had been almost… reverent. As if she was something special, not another lay in some random spaceport. She was doubtlessly reading too much into his touches. More likely, despite his words to the contrary, he had been worried they wouldn’t escape and he had also wanted to experience the taste and feel of the opposite sex one last time.

  Her rifle clunked on the side of the duct as they went around the corner. Val grumbled to herself to focus on the mission.

  “What?” Gregor whispered, glancing back at her. He had paused near one of those vents, and slashes of light played across his face. A handsome face with kissable lips. She snorted at her recalcitrant mind. So much for focusing.

  “I was wondering if we’re close,” she whispered back.

  Gregor nodded. “Yes. Two more turns, and we’ll be behind the generator room. The map didn’t show where all the vents were.” He tilted his head toward the slats next to him. “I hope there’ll be at least one in that room.”

  “It was a big room. You’d think there would be.”

  Gregor continued on without comment. Val crawled after him, careful not to let the rifle bump again. She hadn’t heard anyone walking or talking in the rooms they passed yet, but there would probably be guards in the hall near the generator room, as well as in the room itself.

  After a few more minutes of travel, Gregor stopped at a new vent. He peered between the slats for a long moment. Val itched to see for herself, but there wasn’t room for two people side-by-side in the duct. Eventually, he looked over his shoulder at her, held a finger to his lips, then pantomimed for her to stay there. He crawled away, disappearing into the darkness around a bend.

  Val inched forward. She peered through the vent to a dirty tile floor smashed with wads of old gray gum and had to drop to her belly to get a view of anything more interesting. She was straight across from the green base of a big piece of equipment. That generator? Had it been green? She tried to remember what the camera had shown them, but it had only displayed the room for a couple of seconds before it had been shot down. Ah, there was a chair—and a human leg—at the edge of her view. It was the generator room. Her duct must be on the side wall, perpendicular to the one with the double doors. They and the table full of men would be to her left, the way Gregor had gone. The admiral, if he hadn’t been moved, would be to her right, at the back of the room. Was Gregor trying to find another entry point closer to the guards? How were they going to push through the grates covering these vents, anyway? They were screwed to the wall with the screw heads facing the room. Gregor might be strong enough to throw an elbow and break through, but she was afraid she would only hurt herself—and make noise. It would be hard to find any leverage in the tight space.

  “How much longer?” a man asked from the table. Val couldn’t see the speaker, or anything except the one person’s leg, bland khaki pants and brown boots.

  “… think twenty minutes,” someone answered. The machinery across the room was humming, and Val had to lean her ear close to the vent to hear the second man’s words.

  “Good. I’m tired of sitting down here, especially now that we’re getting visitors.”

  “I’m tired of drugging an old man every couple of hours. What if his heart gives out and he dies?”

  “He’s not that old. He’s around sixty, isn’t he?”

  “That’s old. And you didn’t answer? What if he dies? We might not get paid.”

  “We’ll get paid. The Orenkans were probably just going to shoot him anyway.”

  His comrade grunted.

  Intent on listening to the men outside, Val didn’t notice Gregor making his way back to her until his face was only a few inches from hers. She twitched in surprise but kept her head from banging on the duct ceiling. A good thing, because the men at the table probably would have heard that.

  Gregor pointed at her ear, then crept closer. She knew he had whispering orders in mind, not kissing or nuzzling, but a flutter of anticipation stirred in her gut, nonetheless. Not the time for that… Val
turned her ear toward him.

  “There’s another vent near that table,” he murmured, his breath warm on her cheek. “I’m going to break out of it and attack them. While they’re distracted, I want you to break through this one and go to the admiral. I think he’s unconscious, so you won’t be able to drag him back here, but at least try to drag him behind the generator and cover him until the fight is over.”

  Val grabbed his arm before he could pull away. She leaned close and whispered, “You’re going to fight a bunch of armed men with a canister of gas? That’s crazy.”

  “I would prefer a more elegant—and less dangerous—solution, but if the admiral is due to be picked up in twenty minutes, I don’t see that there’s time to hunt for better weapons.”

  He tried to pull back, but she didn’t let him go.

  “Wait,” she whispered. She wanted to tell him that it was foolish, that they could try to get the admiral at another point, that he shouldn’t risk himself… but realized she would have sounded like some lovelorn woman rather than a mercenary speaking to another mercenary. A commanding officer mercenary at that. Besides, she wasn’t lovelorn. They had kissed. So what? “How am I supposed to open this grate?” she asked instead.

  “You have a laser rifle. I’ll trust you to figure it out.”

  Oh. Right.

  This time, when Gregor backed away, Val let him go. Time to do her job, get the admiral, and hope being stuck in a freezer had qualified her for a combat bonus.

  Val scooted back in the shaft so shrapnel wouldn’t hit her when she fired. She wedged the butt of the rifle into the hollow of her shoulder and waited. Blasting the grate wouldn’t be the most silent way to enter a room, so she would have to hope Gregor’s distraction was enough. And that he wouldn’t get killed making that distraction.

  Seconds drifted past with nothing happening. Had he changed his mind? Or maybe he was having trouble getting his own grate off without announcing his presence prematurely. In the room, the men grumbled about cheaters and speculated on women. Val rubbed the trigger with her finger. If whoever was picking up the admiral came early, such as while she and Gregor were fighting people in the middle of the room, they might find themselves dealing with twice the number of enemies.